Classic Poem

Young wife, how beautiful the months swept by.
Within thy bower methinks I view thee still:
The meek observance of thy lifted eye
Bent on thy lord, and prompt to do his will;
The care for him, the happiness to see
His soul's full confidence repose in thee,
The sacrifice of self, the ready skill
In duty's path, the love without alloy,
These gave each circling year a brighter crown of joy.